


The Violations of Scent

by dunneltag879



Category: DCU, Red Robin (Comics), Superboy (Comics)
Genre: KonTim - Freeform, M/M, Poor Tim Drake, Tim needs a hug, Timkon, he should probably wash the shirt but oh well, sad tim
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-20
Updated: 2020-10-20
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:16:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27115972
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dunneltag879/pseuds/dunneltag879
Summary: Tim carried on with such comfortable torture, he wore the shirt almost everywhere, to bed, under his suit on patrol, under his button up at work, and repeat. He seemed to wear it so much that after a while it eventually began to fit and feel like a second layer of skin.OrAfter constant failure to clone Kon, Tim rips Kon’s old shirt from the glass chamber and so sets in place his attachment to the fabric and refusal to take it off
Relationships: Tim Drake/Kon-El | Conner Kent
Comments: 7
Kudos: 43





	The Violations of Scent

**Author's Note:**

> I recently lost my aunt and inherited some of her old shirts so this is pure inspiration from personal experience. It’s nice and comforting to have something of hers, yet feels almost like a violation in a way? If that makes sense? So, yeah, I guess that just sparked a bit of inspiration because I felt like incorporating that feeling into Tim and how it would feel for him to finally wear Kon’s shirt after keeping it locked away for almost 100 cloning attempts

Having things that weren’t his or at least not meant to be his was something Tim was rather used to, it was but a second nature. For instance, the title of robin, or the seat as Wayne enterprise’s CEO. So, why did the mere fabric feel so entirely different from all the rest? 

It’d been a little over a year since Kon’s tragic perish, and only 98 cloning attempts in did Tim finally break.

His knuckles bled, arms covered in micro shards of glass from constant punching, pounding and cracking of the thick glass tube that contained Superboy’s infamous shirt. 

It was the last thing that smelt like him, of sweat, leather and maybe a hint some sort of spice? 

Tim hugged the shirt for a long time, and he laid in the pile of glass for what felt like an enternity, though was only but a half hour.

When he finally arose, the pricks in his skin intensified with pain, so he clutched the shirt on his way to the shower. Tim left the shirt out as he climbed in, carefully removing each small shard that stuck to his skin. He let the water cleanse him, wash away the glass, the dirt, and all the strong emotions he collected alongside it all. 

Seconds turned to minutes and minutes to little over an hour did the boy stay in the shower, allowing the water, which was now cold , to run down his shoulders and along his back. He sat down on the tiled shower floor, his mind well far from his head now. 

Tim imagined himself climbing out of the shower a good forty minutes ago. He saw himself being approached by Kon, the duo smiling at one another. Kon would call him something annoying and atrocious like “lil’ buddy”, kiss him on the temple, and they’d go cuddle on the couch, watching anything from old westerns to Star Wars. 

The keyword was ‘imagined’, though. Tim and Kon would not cuddle on the couch and watch movies because that wasn’t Tim cuddling with Kon, instead Cassie. Kon wouldn’t kiss Tim, either, such affections would forever belong to Kon’s girl of the week. Besides, Kon wasn’t even there. He’d been long dead a year now, and Tim was still in the shower, his fingers well past over pruned. 

There would be no ‘surprise I’m back from the dead’ and Tim would certainly have no knight in shining armor, and certainly no kissing his hero. 

When he finally turned the water off, the clock struck 4 am. The vacancy of the noise of the water invited in the louder sound of silence, equipped with creepy additions like the shifting of floorboards or the exhaust of pipes. 

Tim stared at the shirt, his overgrown bangs still dripping water down his neck and shoulders, he hadn’t bothered to dry it much.  
He was holding the shirt now, crumpling the soft cotton in his hands. Time was slow, agonizing and cruel, especially as Tim found himself trailing his pale fingers over the red ‘S’ that conquered majority of the front of the T-shirt. 

He lifted it up, pulling the black fabric over his head and down his chest, his arms finding their way through the intended holes in the shirt at some point along the way. 

It felt odd wearing the shirt now, like a violation. The shirt still reeked of Kon’s musk and Tim almost felt nervous wearing it around other people, as if they’d look at him weird or tell him to take it off. Almost that it didn’t belong to him. He knew, of course that deep down Kon would have no problem with Tim wearing his shirt, he’d actually most likely want Tim to have it. Only, it felt as maybe it didn’t belong there because maybe Kon would come back any moment, maybe he’d fly in and demand instead for the shirt back. 

Pushing such worries aside, Tim slept in the shirt that night, he cried into it, quieted his sobs into it, because now it all felt far too real. There would be no cloning Kon. This wasn’t some elaborate faking your death prank. There would be no Kon coming back. There would be no more superboy, and certainly no more superboy and robin duo. 

Tim wore the shirt all the next day. 

He wore it to bed the next night as well. 

And the next day.

And the following night. 

Even so, Tim carried on with such comfortable torture, he wore the shirt almost everywhere, to bed, under his suit on patrol, under his button up at work, and repeat. He seemed to wear it so much that after a while it eventually began to fit and feel like a second layer of skin. 

Kon’s familiar sent was far gone and drained from the shirt, long replaced with Tim’s overworked and sleep deprived scent of coffee and the need for another application of deodorant. 

Yet, every time Tim sniffed the shirt, he still found himself getting a small whiff of Kon, almost as if Kon was replacing the shirt or simply wearing it for some time before returning it. 

For such reasons, Tim didn’t wash it, fear clouding his mind at the subtle idea of Kon’s smell possibly being forever wiped from existence. If he allowed such a thing, Tim didn’t think he’d ever forgive himself. 

So, the robin wore the shirt. He wore the shirt that didn’t belong to him, the shirt of his forever secret love and the shirt of his forever best friend. The sense of violation sat along with it, collecting dust with less worry everyday in the corner of his mind. It was the last piece of Kon he had, the last remembrance that remained besides obvious videos, voicemails or pictures. 

The videos would always be there, there to aid Tim in never forgetting his scruffy voice but, the shirt...the scent would one day ware off, and so Tim decided to find comfort in it for as long as time would allow him.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading!!! Also I just want to say a special thanks to all the peeps leaving comments on my work I really appreciate it and you are what keep me writing!!! Mwah!
> 
> Tumblr: klariwitch


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